No. Period.

I was just dozing off at my computer here at work. And in a brief moment, I dreamed that a guy was red with indignation over why he decided to leave periods out of his sentences. He refused to use periods because there's enough space to designate the ends of sentences and that he wouldn't use periods if he didn't have to.

Trenches

I wish you knew what it was like

to dig dirt

To see your French manicure dulled

by the earth

I wish you could hear what we

think down here

But the only sound you hear

is the jangle at your wrist

of metal upon metal

Posted by ruth at June 07, 2005 01:36 AM

Comments

Ruth, I imagine you as being an archiaologist (don't know if that's the correct spelling) of some sort. Digging, metal to metal...perhaps gold? Anyways' great writing!
Lynn Vasquez
Posted by: Lynn Vasquez on June 7, 2005 05:48 PM

Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

Yesterday, I sat among the congregration, 20 or so of them, in that tiny Baptist church in Waianae Valley. Every time you stand in front of people, I feel so proud. I feel giddy, and I become like a little girl dangling her feet under the pew. Pastor, that's what they call you.

You look so kind in polyester slacks and aloha shirt. Your thick eyebrows and your silver hair make you look very dignified. For a preacher, you say very little. Your sentences are quaint, and you tell sweet jokes.

Yet, I know your feet and your back still carry the toil of the farm you knew decades ago, when life began to boom just after the Depression. You asked questions about life and what it all means when four tons of pineapple spoil, and you have to throw it all away. I know those kinds of memories hurt. I know you grew up with little money and that pursuing a better life was not easy, not easy like how it was for me. I know the secret decisions you made about claiming a faith, following a spiritual path when no one around you understood what you were doing. You were 27 when you did that, with no promise of a job, a wife, a future. You just had faith.

And this is a faith I inherited. In recent years, I struggled to understand what this faith all means to me, often resentful of how it shackled my arms and feet. For a certain period in my life, I didn't like the things you said from behind the pulpit. You had no idea about how cold my heart was years ago, when I sat listening in contempt of the message you delivered.

I no longer feel this way. I no longer fight with the message and the ideas. I see beyond that, and I see you. I see the love in your heart and a sincerity that is golden. You are humble and strong. You are good-natured. You smile over littlest things. Someday, I hope to be like you.

Your daughter,
Ruth


Posted by ruth at January 10, 2005 05:25 PM

Comments

Aloha Ruth, Mahaalo for sharing such a beautiful and spiritual story. I too, disliked what the Pastors were trying to tell me...for me it was when I lost my husband. Now, I am strong in the Lord again. Now, I am stronger in faith and in mind. No matter what may come my way, no matter how I suffer...he is there to carry me. Please say Mahalo to your dad for me, it is because of men like him that the lost come back to the groom, Christ Jesus!
Lynn Vasquez
Posted by: Lynn Vasquez on June 7, 2005 05:39 PM

Hey Lynn,
Thanks for sharing your story! I will pass this along to my dad.
Take care,
Ruth
Posted by: ruth on June 8, 2005 01:20 AM

tootie...
i miss you.
none has ever replaced you.
i love you my friend...
Posted by: christy on July 21, 2005 10:43 AM

Part of Me Fell with the Twin Towers

souls run through
powdered streets
at her feet
neckties like flags
wave desperately
without answers
as he stabs her heart
crushing her form
bringing her to her knees
then she cries
with a plea that
he not forget her

Written 10/2001

Posted by ruth at December 10, 2004 02:25 PM

Comments

Thank you for reminding us....
As a child, I grew up with the towers erection, saw the shadow of tightrope performer Phillppe Petite as he walked between them. As a teenager, visited the roof many times, like the kids here visit beaches and malls, emerging from the labrynith of train tunnels below, and riding in those escalators and elevators shoulder to shoulder with those suits. As an adult, celebrated in Windows, with my friend Setrak, who designed the interior.
So, years later, In Hawaii, to have seen the images of those bodies falling and then read how even the scrap metal languished and was shipped to India is very hard to bear.
Posted by: Mike Shiroma on December 13, 2004 08:26 PM

Hey Mike - Powerful memories. Thanks for sharing.
-Ruth
Posted by: ruth on December 21, 2004 04:59 PM

Waikiki to My Memory

Yesterday we swam in light blue waters that darkened
As the sun departed.
Your hair a drenched crown
Your face a mirror to the changing sun
Your body a mystery lost to the vastness of the sea.
In the ocean, sounds from a thousands miles
And a thousand little worlds
Echo an ancient chorus on the water's surface,
Whispering reminders that our time is fleeting
And that the moment, as inspiring as it may be,
Is but a vapor.
In silence, I answered them
With the indigation of a child,
Committing all that I heard and all that I saw,
Your words, your smile, your laughter,
To my memory.

Written to my husband, two weeks after the date of our wedding - September 4, 2004. I love who you were, who you are and who you will become.

Posted by ruth at September 19, 2004 04:12 PM

Comments

Dear Ruth and Husband:
Congratulations on your marriage!
Your prose always heartens me by proving that decent, good, people like you exist who generously share their time and energy.
I especially appreciate your process of working through emotions, ideas, and experiences to formulate an opinion.
Sincerely,
Mike Shiroma
(Probably not a relation, but who knows?)
Posted by: Michael Shiroma on September 24, 2004 06:11 PM

Dear Ruth and Husband:
Congratulations on your marriage!
Your prose always heartens me by proving that decent, good, people like you exist who generously share their time and energy.
I especially appreciate your process of working through emotions, ideas, and experiences to formulate an opinion.
Sincerely,
Mike Shiroma
(Probably not a relation, but who knows?)
Posted by: Michael Shiroma on September 24, 2004 06:11 PM

Dear Ruth and Husband:
Congratulations on your marriage!
Your prose always heartens me by proving that decent, good, people like you exist who generously share their time and energy.
I especially appreciate your process of working through emotions, ideas, and experiences to formulate an opinion.
Sincerely,
Mike Shiroma
(Probably not a relation, but who knows?)
Posted by: Michael Shiroma on September 24, 2004 06:12 PM

I'm so sorry for the above repeating twice!
I'm barely computer literate and didn't intend for the above to happen.
Posted by: Michael Shiroma on September 24, 2004 06:17 PM

Hey Mike! Thanks for your very kind post. Over the years, I've met a lot of Shiromas. Anyway, no problems about the repeat posts. Makes me look popular!
Take care,
Ruth
Posted by: ruth on September 25, 2004 11:49 AM

You have wonderful etiquette, but any role in saying "thanks" is mine. I worry regarding the local culture and government that my elementary school aged kids will enter in a few years. (For example, my generation had heroes like Emmett Aluli, Joanne Yukimura, and Keiko Bonk. Since then, we seem to have self-scripted ourselves as a mix of "1984," "Antz" and Matrix.") So, your work, as well as Ryan Ozawa's, has been a precious light, freely given, that inspires my hope that my kids' Hawaii won't be so bleak.
Posted by: Michael Shiroma on September 26, 2004 01:00 AM

What? Hey! Congratulations! Big congratulations! Beautiful, just beautiful. Your husband is a lucky, lucky man.
Posted by: Ryan on September 30, 2004 08:59 AM

These Holes

I want to embrace you again.
But the holes in my soul caused by you
Cannot be repaired,
And from time to time,
I feel the wind blow over them.
They make sounds like windpipes
Humming solemn melodies.

If I put my arms around you again,
Parts of you will fill those holes.
It'll hurt.
And when you step away,
I will be foolish to declare
"The holes are not there anymore."

I know how profound it is,
To say goodbye to you
When your steps are but a block away
And when you continue to weave
Beautiful, glorious things into the world
And when the mystery of the universe
Is revealed by every heart beat
From inside your chest

I'm sorry. I care, but these holes ...

Posted by ruth at July 14, 2004 02:05 PM

Dress Up

Last night at Macy's, in the teen girls department, Naomi and I flipped through a motley assortment of dresses marked down two, three, and sometimes four times. The splashes of color were outrageous - large red flowers with heavy black outlines, pink ribbons for straps, cartoon characters over bright yellow on a tea-length skirt. Under the cheap fluorescent lighting in the grundge-style fitting room, Naomi slipped into each outfit, and with childlike happiness she stepped toward and away from the mirror, turning different ways. The dresses were ultra-feminine, like the Stepford Wives, though the fabric of course was thinner, being in the teen section. Against Naomi's brown muscular back and wild black hair, the dresses were tame yet whimsical, contradictory. I was clumped in the dressing room corner, taking in the scene of two 31-year-old twins playing dress up in a teen cubicle, somehow wanting to be ladylike, but on our own terms.

Posted by ruth at June 22, 2004 12:49 PM